


Hope in unexpected places

by Gondolin



Series: Space dads extraordinaire [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Blanket Permission, Gen, Good dad Jango, Jango POV, Obi-Wan's massive trauma, Podfic Welcome, Post Revenge of the Sith, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-18 18:15:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20643530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gondolin/pseuds/Gondolin
Summary: In this universe, Jango survives Geonosis and goes underground, trying to keep himself and his son safe. Meeting a traumatized Jetii and baby who won't stop crying wasn't part of his plans.The only downside of his plans, Jango thought, was how recognisable it had made his own face. And that of his son. On any Repub- Empire planets, they were liable to be taken for deserters and brought in as such. And while he could get himself out of scraps quite easily, having someone to protect made everything harder.Harder - but worth doing.(He thought about protecting someone other than Boba, in what felt like another life. About helping Arla out of childhood scraps with other kids, and her helping him. He thought about Jaster and - that never led anywhere good, and he needed to stay sharp. So he shut down that train of thought.)





	Hope in unexpected places

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [What if...](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/519905) by jynx. 

> jynx and MadLulu are the guilty ones for being respectively prompter and enabler.
> 
> Also this story is pretty much "At the start" but slightly different? We literally responded to the prompt at the same time, so we're keeping both versions. We since talked about what we want for this verse, so there should be no more doubles.
> 
> Mando’a:  
ade = child  
udesii = calm down  
su cuy’gar = hello

The only downside of his plans, Jango thought, was how recognisable it had made his own face. And that of his son. On any Repub- Empire planets, they were liable to be taken for deserters and brought in as such. And while he could get himself out of scraps quite easily, having someone to protect made everything harder. 

Harder - but worth doing.

(He thought about protecting someone other than Boba, in what felt like another life. About helping Arla out of childhood scraps with other kids, and her helping him. He thought about Jaster and - that never led anywhere good, and he needed to stay sharp. So he shut down that train of thought.)

This was why him and Boba were in Hutt space. The Hutts were powerful enough to grant protection, and they had plenty of money to spend on people with Jango’s particular set of skills. 

They landed in Mos Eisley, paid off who needed to be paid off, and Jango let what passed for a port official in those parts know that he was a bounty hunter looking for work. He was wearing full armour, and no one questioned it. Boba wore his face covered to protect him from the harsh desert winds, and no one questioned that either.

He held Boba’s hand as he made his way around the crowd, planning their next steps, deciding how long to stay and where to go next if he didn’t find a contract there. 

That is, until those plans were derailed by a high-pitched wail. Initially, Jango didn’t think much of it. Such a noisy place was wound to upset very small children, especially if they were new to the planet. But the crying went on, louder and louder and clearly distressed. Whoever the child’s carer was, wasn’t succeeding in calming them down, and it nagged at Jango. Maybe it was none of his business, but - what it there was something wrong? His hold on Boba’s hand tightened. He had to check.

“We’ll just see if they need help and then be on our way,” he told Boba, who nodded.

Boba had been quiet, taking in the new planet and people around them. They needed to keep moving for now, but what if they could stop for a bit? He would have liked for Boba to have a real home, at least for a while. 

Putting aside those concerns for now, Jango followed the noise to a corner and a chillingly familiar type of brown robe. But no, it couldn’t be… 

The man’s head snapped up at his approach and Jango found himself staring into equally familiar blue eyes. 

“No…” the man whispered, and the child’s cry became more ragged, terrified as if that infant could understand more than they should.

“I’m not here to hurt you. You’re… you’re holding them wrong. And you’ll attract attention,” Jango said before he could stop himself. 

He should turn his back and go. And he would have, had it been only Kenobi, alone. Let him live or die on his own, Jango didn’t care. But the child was in clear need of help.

“How do I know you won’t…”

Jango wanted to say he didn’t kill children, but knew how hypocritical it would sound, coming from him just then. He had heard of Order 66 and the Jedi Temple. 

“I’m here with my son. I don’t want any trouble,” he said instead, and it was the truth.

He took off his helmet, and didn’t miss the minute twitch in Kenobi as he revealed his face. He guessed he looked a bit older than most clones by now, Kenobi had to be traumatized enough to see past that. And to let Jango notice his fear.

In what was, he knew, a spectacularly stupid move, Jango unclasped his blaster and handed it to Boba. “Here, look. I won’t hurt you or the  _ade_.” 

Shaking, Kenobi moved the cloak aside to reveal a small human child, white skin now blotchy red from crying, pale tufts of hair sticking out and - small. Very small. They had to be weeks old at the most. Jango didn’t ask where the parents were, simply took the child and adjusted them in his own arms, making sure to support the head.

“Sssh, sssh.  _Udesii, udesii_,” he whispered to the child, then started humming a lullaby that had been a favourite of Boba not too long ago.

Slowly, the crying subsided to weak sobs. The child wasn’t entirely pacified, but they were getting tired and whatever had been causing the wailing was troubling them less now.

“Do they have a name?” Jango whispered.

Kenobi seemed to come back to himself slowly from where he’d been almost paralized, staring Jango wide-eyed.

“Luke. His name is Luke.”

“_Su cuy’gar_, Luke.”

Carefully as not to jostle the child - Luke, Jango knelt down to be at Boba’s height. One was never too young to learn how to take care of another. “Say hi to Luke, Boba.”

Boba extended a hand, then touched Luke’s tiny fist with a finger. “Why was he crying so much?”

“He was upset. And sometimes, when babies are too young to speak, that’s all they can do,” he looked up at Kenobi, “And sometimes children pick up moods from the adults around them.  _ All _ children do this,” he added, putting some emphasis on the “all” and hoping Kenobi would understand. Not that the man could have been too worried about secrecy, going around still dressed like a kriffing Jetii.

As if tension had been the only thing holding him up, Kenobi slid down along the wall and sat - almost fell - on the floor in front of Jango and Boba. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, voice hoarse.

Jango made to hand Luke back to Kenobi, but as soon as the Jetii touched him, the child started crying again. This time, Kenobi winced visibly, then hid his face in his hands. He looked so incredibly defeated like this.

“They didn’t… I wasn’t supposed to keep him, but his family can’t…” Kenobi mumbled, clearly exhausted and out of options.

Jango tried to tell himself once again that it was none of his business. Once again, he failed.

**Author's Note:**

> This series is going to be very Mandalorian in nature, in the sense that we're very happy to adopt you or your plotbunnies. You can find me on tumblr @captaingondolin or on discord if you want to have feelings about Jango or join in the fun.
> 
> This might end up being Jango/Obi. It will also feature Boba and Luke siblings feels, and Luke in Mandalorian armour (and maybe a jetpack?), because no one can stop me!


End file.
